


Fuck Riverrun

by joinedunderprotest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Rough Sex, you ever fucked to annoy a ghost? because jon has
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joinedunderprotest/pseuds/joinedunderprotest
Summary: Even now, House Tully torments Jon with their rejection of him. Fortunately, he knows exactly how to deal with it.





	Fuck Riverrun

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Jonrya smut fic exchange. I hope Lady Catelyn saves me a seat in hell.

_Fuck Riverrun,_ Jon thought, glaring into his wine, _and fuck House Tully_.

“To tell you the truth, niece,” slurred Edmure Tully, throwing a clumsy arm around Arya’s shoulders, “when my uncle the Blackfish told me that your brother had named Jon Snow his heir and we were bound to serve him and defend his crown, I had such doubts. I thought, why not simply crown myself King of the Riverlands and be done with it?”

_Because you’d just gotten out of a years-long stay in your good-family’s dungeon._ Jon cut into his smoked trout with more effort than was strictly needed. _Because you swore to uphold Robb’s decrees, and Robb wanted me. Because you’re an idiot who couldn’t command a latrine digging without the Blackfish to tell you which is shit and which is shovel._

“Even when I heard the truth of his parentage, I worried,” the Lord of Riverrun carried on, oblivious to his niece’s chill and her husband’s ire. “He may not have been a bastard by birth, but he was a bastard by upbringing, and that might have made him sly and lecherous.”

“He certainly isn’t sly,” Arya commented. Her uncle was too stupid with drink to catch on, but Jon choked back a laugh, and ran one finger inside her thigh under the table. She just shot him a look. She loved to play those games at a crowded feast in Winterfell, but Riverrun was different. He pulled his hand back.

“And _then_ , of course, I heard news that you had survived your ordeal and had returned to Winterfell, for which I gave thanks to the Maiden and the Mother. But then I heard tell of your marriage to your erstwhile brother, and I am not ashamed to say that my stomach did churn at the thought.”

_It’ll churn more in the morning, you drunken fool._

“ _But_ , once I gave it some thought, I realised that it was a relief, truly. Your mother was so worried about what Eddard’s bastard might do if he were given power, to the North and to any of her descendants. But now that you have married him and made yourself Queen, we need not worry, for you are a check to his power and your descendants shall be his.”

“And what exactly would he have done to the North and to any children I or another of my siblings might have had?” Arya asked. Her tone was even and her face was smooth, like she had learnt during her years away, but Jon knew her better than any man alive and he could sense danger brewing beneath her surface.

He loved it. Of course he did. Others, wiser than Lord Tully, recoiled and feared her rage, but Jon saw only the bite of a she-wolf and he gloried in it.

“Well, we will never know. You, you clever girl, you made sure of that. I admire you for it, truly I do. In fact, a toast!”

Lord Edmure stood on swaying legs and lifted his cup high, sloshing Arbor red all over the table and the unfortunate Roslyn Frey.

“To my niece, Arya Stark, the Queen in the North,” he proclaimed, drawing eyes towards him. “I know it would be difficult for your mother to accept your marriage to a man you once believed to be your bastard half-brother. She would wail and gnash her teeth, I am sure, to know that the boy had made such a spectacle of defiling her dear little daughter and seizing her son’s crown. But you seized it right back, a great prize to purchase with only your maidenhead. And yes, the next King in the North will have dragon blood, but he will be just as much a Tully as a Targaryen! That would mean a great deal to my late sister, I’m sure, and had she lived, doubtless she would have come, in time, to accept Jon Snow as her good-son if it meant her grandson would be King. It is all thanks to you, niece! Cheers!”

As Lord Edmure quaffed his drink, a few of the river lords hesitantly brought their own cups to their lips, only to lower them as they noticed the stone-faced northern lords, the Queen staring at her own plate and blinking too quickly, and the King gripping the edges of the high table so hard the wood groaned.

After a long, awkward moment, Jon stood from the table.

“Thank you for that fine toast, my lord,” he pronounced, resisting the urge to throttle someone. “After that, there really is nothing left to say. I will retire for the evening.”

Arya looked up at him as he stepped back, and opened her mouth to say something, but found no words. Jon shook his head once, and then walked out.

He stormed through the halls of that thrice-damned keep. It was true, he had grown up a bastard, with people looking at him and assuming, making him feel small and unclean. He had once believed as a boy that no one but Lady Catelyn could make him feel that special blend of rage, humiliation, and the desperate desire to have someone tell him he was good, but it seemed it was a purely Tully skill. Edmure Tully was a vassal, an in-law, and a fool, but when he stood up with his red hair and blue eyes, speaking his step-mother’s name and acting as though Jon dishonoured Arya every time he looked at her, Jon felt like a boy again, and he absolutely hated it.

_Fuck the Tullys. Fuck this castle._

He stopped for just a moment to steady his breath and ease his stinging eyes, but when he looked up he realised he had taken a wrong turn and did not know where he was. He hailed a passing caretaker, and asked her.

“You’re in the family’s private wing, your Grace,” she told him with a bobbed curtsy. “If you want m’lord’s chamber, it’s down the staircase and to the right. This right here was m’lady Catelyn’s room when she was a girl.”

Jon turned to face the doorway the woman had pointed to. “Do you have a key?”

The woman hesitated a moment, and then produced a large ring of keys. She found one and unlocked the door, then stepped back. “May I ask what’s your Grace’s business here?”

“No, you may go.”

As she scurried off, Jon stepped through the doorway, feeling as if he were not quite inside his own body as he did it. It was a pretty room. The bed seemed large and comfortable. The tapestries on the walls were of Tully lords and knights standing bravely on bloodless battlefields or chastely wooing pretty ladies. The wide window gave a view of the moon glinting off the Red Fork.

Jon found it difficult to imagine Lady Catelyn growing up in that room. Some part of him had always assumed she emerged fully-formed from a kiln in the seventh hell, prepared to torment him. She was surely back down in that hell now, furious that the Bastard of Winterfell had crossed the threshold of her bedroom in the Riverlands, as he had her room in the North a thousand times.

He perched on the edge of the bed and balled a hand up in the covers. Lady Catelyn had thought he sullied everything he touched, but she was wrong. He had touched every inch of Arya, and no matter how he took her, their embraces always left them clean.

“There you are!”

He snapped his head. Arya stood in the doorway, her breath quick and her eyes red.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“You’ve been crying,” was all he could say. He let go of the covers and held out his arms for her.

Arya stiffened for a moment, unsure, but he only waited, and finally she rushed forward, slamming the door behind her, and flew into his arms.

For a time, they sat together, Arya’s head tucked under his chin.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “I should have stopped my uncle at dinner. I should never have even let him get to that stupid toast. He’s been doing this since we got here, and I know you pretended not to notice, but you should never have to pretend.”

“A king can’t start a war every time a man insults his dignity,” Jon reassured her. “Sometimes he must rise above it.”

“Not with me. You should never have to pretend for me.”

“Then why are you pretending for me? That the words didn’t bother you too.”

Arya’s breath hitched. Jon took a handful of her hair, breathed in its familiar, spicy scent, and then kissed it.

“Do you think she would be ashamed of me?” Arya asked, her voice so small it broke him. “It made her angry even when I called you brother instead of half-brother. To know I call you husband now would devastate her. I was always a disappointment to her, and now there’s this.”

_Fuck you, Catelyn Tully. You did this to her._

He dragged her up until their faces were so close he breathed in her breaths.

“I love you,” he told her, heart pounding in his ears. “And I know you love me. Your mother couldn’t stop us from loving each other when she lived and she can’t stop it now. It might be she’d be ashamed, aye, but she hasn’t seen what we’ve seen. There’s no one else in the world who could understand. We belong together, Arya Stark.”

Bringing one hand to the back of her head and one around her waist, he buried his face in her neck and bit hard.

Arya gasped, her back arching. Soft, teasing touches could get her excited, but biting and scratching drove her wild.

“We’re a pack,” he told her, lips shining red, “and only another wolf could ever understand what that means.”

Arya threw a leg over him in a flurry of skirts and brought her mouth to his. He growled in pleasure as she bit his lip and scratched his chest.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, rocking his hips up into hers. “Just like that. Forget about everything but you, me, and the wolves.”

Arya pulled back with that wild look in her eye that always left him rock hard and desperate. She pushed him by his shoulders until he fell back on the bed, and she ground herself on his clothed cock.

_She’s perfect_ , he thought as he watched her writhe on top of him, her mouth falling open. _How could Lady Catelyn not see it?_

And then he thought, _Oh._

“Clothes,” he gasped, stilling Arya’s hips. “Off. All of them. I want to see you.” _I want you to be seen._

Arya was too riled up to argue. She rushed off him and started tearing at the laces of her dress, as Jon stripped off everything he had. When he was finished, he lay back, moving further up the bed, and watched her.

When the last stitch of Arya’s clothing dropped to the floor, she clambered back onto the bed, looking like a starving wolf. She stopped and moved to settle herself back on his hips, but he held a hand out.

“No, Arya.” He patted his own cheek. “Come sit here.”

Half a smile lifted the corner of Arya’s mouth. She crawled to him, and then straightened up and gripped the headboard.

“The other way, Arya.”

Arya looked down at him in confusion, so he helpfully took hold of her thigh and dragged it to the other side of his head. She let out a cry and fell forward, catching herself on his stomach, and Jon groaned at the sight she presented him, her cunt pink and glistening for him.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “I could make you come on my tongue in an instant.”

Arya looked back over her shoulder at him, her half-smile returning. “You think you’re any better? You’re hard as iron.”

At that, she planted a hard, sucking kiss on him, just above his pubic bone, and he heard her giggle into his skin as he bucked his hips.

“Should we have a race then?” he offered, trying to keep his voice steady. “Who can finish the other first?”

“What does the winner get?”

“Anything.”

A moment ticked by, and then suddenly Arya’s mouth was on him, sucking him in deep.

_You little cheater_ , he thought happily, burying himself in her cunt. He lapped at her bud and then sucked hard, feeling her squeal around a mouthful of cock. But that felt too good, and he couldn’t allow himself to lose, so he pulled one hand away from her hip and dipped two fingers inside her, massaging her walls.

Arya pulled her mouth off him and moaned, squirming back onto his fingers, rocking her hips to meet them.

“Jon!”

Jon broke into a smile and kissed the curve of her arse. “It’s alright, Arya, I’ll give you more.”

He pulled his fingers from her, and she whined and chased them. He brought them to his nose and sniffed them. He wanted to suck them too, but he needed her juices. He brought one finger to her arsehole, massaging it in slow circles and then bringing the tip inside.

“You-!” Arya cried, realising his game, gasping at the feeling. Not to be outdone, she wrapped one hand around the base of him and stroked him, and then dipped her head down and started lapping at his balls.

He seized, nearly overwhelmed by pleasure, and breathed deeply until he calmed a little. He brought his mouth back to her, burying his tongue as far as it would go and licked hard, eyes rolling back in his head as Arya sucked one of his balls into her little mouth.

_Can you see this, Lady Catelyn?_ he thought, exhilarated, pushing his face further into Arya. _Can you see what Arya and I do to each other? She’s mine. She’s your daughter in your bed, but she’s mine._

And with that, he moved back down and gave a final, hungry suck to her bud and she tensed up and wailed, shaking against him until she fell limp.

“Are you well, Arya?” he asked, stroking her sides as she lay on top of him.

“Gods, Jon.”

“You sound exhausted.”

Her only response was to groan into his thigh.

He chuckled at that, and began to shift out from beneath her. “You are not to fall asleep. We had an agreement. I’ve won, and I’ll collect now.”

Arya groaned again but allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“You are a heartless man,” she complained sleepily as she allowed him to lead her across the room.

He paused. He turned to her.

“Never heartless,” he corrected, pulling her in close and cradling the back of her head. He brought their clasped hands to the scar on his breast. “I have a heart, and it has beat and stopped and beat again.”

Arya’s sleepy eyes warmed into something clear and tender. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the scar.

“I know, Jon,” she murmured into the muscle. “This is _my_ heart. It stopped for me and it beats for me.”

Jon flushed in pleasure at hearing her claim him like that, here of all places. _Do you hear that?_

He put his arms around her and walked them backwards until his knees hit the bench by the window. He turned around and positioned them, bringing her to kneel on the bench, her hands on the windowsill.

“If anyone is heartless, it’s you,” he said in her ear, watching goosebumps rise along her skin. “You haven’t shared my bed since we got to the Riverlands. Does it amuse you to deny me?”

“You know why I haven’t,” Arya tried to argue, but he could hear the breathy note in her voice, could see her hips begin to push back expectantly. “The Riverlands are-”

“Ours. They are ours, and I am yours, and you are mine.”

“You may be my husband, but-”

“Oh, I am far more than that, _little sister_.” And with that, he guided himself inside her.

Arya’s gasp was just as much for his words as for the stretch of his cock. This was not a game they played often, but it always sent them into a wild rut and left them hoarse and raw on the ground.

Jon chuckled darkly and braced one hand on her shoulder and one on her hip. He pulled out punishingly slowly until only his swollen head was inside her and then, with a hard grunt, he slammed back into her so roughly she nearly crashed into the window.

When he tried to do it again, however, she was ready for him, and slammed her hips back into his own. He heard her shaky, pleased huff of laughter as they both reared back and did it again, again, again.

“That’s it, little sister,” he praised, squeezing her shoulder in delight as they found a brutal rhythm. “You know exactly what I want, don’t you? You always have. My sweet little sister, you’ve pleased me since the day you were born. I remember it. You howled and screamed for everyone else, but you smiled like the moon for me. You knew then, didn’t you? That you were meant for me and I for you?”

He leaned in and wrapped her hair around his fist, pulling her ear to his mouth. “But what’s funny is that now you smile for many, but you only howl and scream for me.”

He scraped his teeth down the long column of her throat and was rewarded with a cry. “Jon! _Jon!_ ”

He pulled back and slowed his thrusts, still anchoring her by her hair as she whimpered and tried to back onto him.

“Now, now, little sister. You know that’s not how the game is played. Who am I? What do you want from me?”

“Fuck me,” she ordered, pushing her hips back as best as she could.

“Fuck me…” Jon trailed off, expectant, hissing as her tight cunt bounced barely an inch on his cock.

“Fuck me, _big brother_ ,” she managed through gritted teeth.

He rewarded her with a long, slow thrust, and he felt her clench around him as she tried to keep him inside.

“Fuck you how?” he asked. He needed her to say it. He needed her to cry it out loud enough to be heard down in the seventh hell.

“However you want! Fuck me in my cunt, fuck me in my arse, fuck me in any hole you like! Mount me like we’re wolves in the godswood! Rut me like we’re dogs in the street! Fill me with your cock. Drive your seed in deep and put your baby in my belly. You can have anything, just please, _please_ , make me come, big brother.”

With a snarl, Jon pulled out of her. Ignoring her shriek of despair, he climbed up on the bench behind her, pushing her so her upper body lay flush against the window. He thought of how her breasts must look flattened against the class, and he twitched with need as he brought himself back inside her and thrust savagely.

“They can see us, little sister,” he reminded her, the words coming with difficulty between his laboured breaths. His she-wolf only whined and reached behind him to grab at his arse and push him deeper into her. “Does that please you? To know that anyone in this castle could walk outside and see how you’re being fucked by your lord husband? By your bastard brother?”

Arya looked over her shoulder at him, and for a moment there was perfect clarity in her eyes. “It pleases _you_.”

Jon smiled wide and pressed a sloppy kiss to the corner of her mouth. Of course she had guessed. But still she let him do it, and that was why he reached his sweaty fingers down between her legs and gave her aching bundle a few sharp strokes until she keened. He let himself go and spurted deep within her, distantly enjoying the squelching sound of his last, languid thrusts. He pulled out of her and lay back on the cool, comforting stone floor, closing his eyes.

Arya giggled from her spot by the window, and after a moment he felt her burrow into the circle of his arms.

“I don’t think I could make it back to our rooms either,” she admitted, exhausted and content, “but we’re not even going for the bed?”

“You can if you like. I can’t feel my legs.”

“You’re my husband. We share everything, including this floor.”

For long minutes they lay together, and Jon almost thought he had fallen asleep until Arya spoke again.

“I loved my mother. She wasn’t always the best mother to me. She tried to make me someone I wasn’t. But she loved me. I know she did.”

Jon held his breath.

“She hated you, though. It wasn’t right of her. It was cruel, and it hurt you deeply. It hurt me too, because I loved you so much but I didn’t know how to make her stop, so I only loved you as best I could and tried to ease your pain every time she wounded you.”

“You loved me well,” was all Jon could manage.

“If this is what you need, so be it. I won’t refuse for her sake. She was wrong in her treatment of you, and if this is what you need to heal yourself, I’ll give it to you.”

Arya shifted, bringing herself closer to search Jon’s face.

“But there’s no man alive who knows better than me that the satisfaction of vengeance doesn’t last. It makes you strong, but it also tears you apart. Do you want to spend the rest of your life chasing victory over my mother?”

Jon drew in a shuddering breath. “No. No, I don’t want that. I want to have a family. I want to be a better father to our children than she was a mother.”

Arya drew him in for a kiss, then stood and held her hand out to him. They dressed themselves in soft silence and returned to their own rooms.

And nine months later, when their first child was born in Winterfell, Jon didn’t think of Lady Catelyn or Riverrun at all.


End file.
